


(with a chest made of rumble), i can't even breathe

by comhfort



Category: canon - Fandom
Genre: Other, strong depiction of anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 04:11:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13092144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comhfort/pseuds/comhfort
Summary: my experience with something that has never been diagnosed





	(with a chest made of rumble), i can't even breathe

**Author's Note:**

> I find it comforting to write what makes me extremely uncomfortable to even mention in real life, so here it is.

Someone runs toward their car and I come to a halt. There’s at least 5 feet of distance between us, as if we were two pawns a few moves away from stopping each other. I adjust my glasses, once, twice, again, and their pace dwindles, seemingly handing me a letter scorning my desire to make the space we don’t share enhanced. It’s unnecessary, melodramatic, redundant, I’ll be out of sight eventually, not nearly enough time to even take in that we’ve crossed ways.

It sticks with me, one more time my palms get too sweaty, up the number of occasions where I squeeze my hands into fists, it helps, I tell myself, a distraction and whatnot. And, somehow, the little things always leave a heavier desperation to be alone. Always crowded streets over meager, fleeting encounters with a singular stranger.

And it’s not so bad, there’s no panic attacks, sometimes I can imagine my throat swelling up, tears mixed with sweat, the urge to throw up, and then, the rational part of my brain reminds me that’d draw in too many cursory glances, rushed whispers, and it leaves only a chunk of the amount of despair to just not do any of that than to follow my body’s directions.

It’s way too overdue, the feelings everyone shares of not wanting to draw attention in, but I ponder where the glass breaks, when it stops being me finding solace in common discomforts, apprehensions and suddenly I’m the only one remaining, below ground level logic.

There’s the indisputable observations, no matter where: trying to not look anywhere but my phone, consistently staying where I won't be a bother, no blowing my nose, no taking pictures in public, no talking in public, no sneezing, no coughing, no any kind of smile or laugh, no fumbling with my things, no sounds coming from my phone or me, no messing with my hair, no putting on chapstick, no putting on a coat, no tying my shoes, no pulling my pants up, no speaking to strangers.

An array of things where the minimal movement might make me want to die, which should be an exaggeration, sometimes I doubt it is.

During a bus ride home my mum called me, and I weighed the pros and cons, a reprehension, a few mean words for never picking up my phone, _honestly_ , or the guarantee that no one will be looking at me. I turn down the call and text her: Will be home in 10mins, can’t pick up the phone now.

It isn’t limited to social interactions, of course it isn’t. The fear of giving a wrong answer, no matter if at school or just in general, the fear of talking to someone by myself, having to meet a friend alone has been the cause of a few mental breakdowns, my desperation to find an excuse to bring someone else, no matter who, just to carry the conversation, and the subsequent torment of knowing I’ll be forever incapable of change, of adjustment, development.

Growing up, knowing the hidden concern in the voices of people who described me as a bit too shy, and my parents laughing, saying I had been this way since they can remember, _just has to grow up a bit, you know? We shelter her too much, maybe_. And it would be resolved, because grown ups know best, right?

I recognize a certain decay in the way I behave. Often just the thought of other people, of interactions, of being the subject of gazes of strangers makes all of my energy crumble beneath the valiant substance needed to act accordingly, normally.

Too often trouble breathing, heart rate far above normal levels, palms hidden by my sleeves back to their normal shape into fists, the sweat running down my forehead which makes my glasses slide down my nose, even more, and no attempt on my part of moving them up, because I’m too focused looking at the ground, thinking _walk straight walk straight_ , just as if it wasn’t something I did daily, my movements awkward, and there’s no one even there. Happens as I’m walking alone on the street, or crossing a road and having a car stop for me, crunching leaves on the ground and knowing I’ve fucked up, because that was too loud, too everything, and I just don’t wanna be anywhere that isn’t alone in a locked room. My eyes water, and I wonder if I’m breathing too loudly, my lips are dry and I’m incapable of even running my tongue through them, because what if someone sees?

Sometimes I think it’s beyond unhealthy, and then it hits me, if this is just normal me, walking the same streets I’ve stumbled in since I was little and riding the bus which is never too full, all the regular faces I see everyday, I can never leave, can I?


End file.
